Alien Crossfire Chapter 4

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Wedge’s shuttle landed in the middle of a number of smaller coral shells and burnt out durasteele and ferocrete buildings. They were the remains of what used to be a New Republic garrison on this planet; one which was taken over by the Yuuzhan Vong. He quickly descended the ramp, and looked around.

Lando walked up to him, dressed in his usual silk shirt and half cape rather than the body armor of the troops behind Wedge. A moment later Gavin joined him.

Lando smiled at them both, a flash of even, white teeth. "Did you see how well the hunters performed? Were those beautiful performance profiles or what?"

Wedge grinned slightly. "Yes Lando, beautifully done. Now how’re the facilities here on planet?"

Lando gestured towards the crumbled remains of the old garrison. "As you can see, the Vong pretty well trashed everything here."

"And the old Alderanian biotics facility?"

Lando produced a datapad from behind his back, and started tapping away at it. After a few moments, he looked back up. "Just got a report that it appears to be still functional, and ready for activation."

"All right then. Let’s relocate our forces there, and make that our command structure."

Six hours later, Wedge was once more touring facilities. He stepped out the building, and glanced around. After a second he cast a glance over his shoulder at Tycho. "I want a burn zone a klick out in every direction and two klicks out to the north. That’s our kill zone."

Tycho nodded his head, and then glanced around the area at the ships that had already settled to the ground.

"Have you heard anything from Iella Wedge?"

Wedge sighed, his fists tightening slightly. "No. Not yet. Winter?"

"I’ve not talked to her, but she was on Mon Calamari visiting the Admiral."

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The shaper drone slowly recited figures and numbers. A seemingly unending supply of expressions about the mutability of the infidels and how they can adapt and react, a waterfall of terms on the way one in particular survived and thrived in an Embrace of Pain chamber as if he were one of the Elite.

All the while, the face of Tsavong Lah slowly clouded in anger.

Nom Anor watched as this occurs. Marveling slightly at how much clearer a transmission the villip had over the infidel’s holonet. Nom glanced again at Tsavong’s face. Not much longer now.

As if on cue, the warmaster’s snarled voice ripped through the shaper’s report. "Enough!"

The shaper suddenly looked up from the qahsa which held the report to look into the warmaster’s face. "B-b-but the data is important."

The warmaster’s face twisted into a snarl. "Not to me it isn’t. Do I look like a shaper? I need to know what it means!"

Nom suppressed a grin. "Warmaster, if I may speak?"

The snarl came again, almost a growl. "And what can you offer Executor? You are no shaper."

"No, but my specialty is interpretation."

"Your specialty is lies and deceit."

Nom could feel one of his eyebrows lift slightly. As if there is a difference. But he did not share that thought with the others. "As you wish, Warmaster."

Tsavong turned once more to face the shaper, and then back to Nom Anor. "Tell me."

Nom made a small gesture dismissing the shaper from the room, and bowed his head prior to beginning. "The Jeedai Jacen Solo has learned the lesson of pain. He understands, and treats and reacts to it like some of our greatest warriors."

"But what does that mean?"

"It means it will work. Jacen Solo can and will embrace the True Way. In fact he has already begun to."

"Was this not already attempted with a Jeedai?"

"Shapers."

Tsavong’s face darkened. "Watch your tongue Executor. The Shapers are holy unto Yun Yuuzhan. Be careful that the gods do not strike you dead for such blasphemies."

Nom Anor smiled slightly. "Yet they choose not to. The Shapers tried to turn the captured Jedi into a Yuuzhan Vong, using possibly heretical means to do so. Jacen Solo will remain fully human, yet he will also fully embrace the Yuuzhan Vong way."

"And what does this gain us?"

"Jacen Solo is a scion of one of the most well known families in this galaxy. His mother used to be Supreme Overlord of the New Republic. His uncle is the warmaster for the Jedi. His grandfather was warmaster for a much more reasonable form of government which his uncle is nearly universally accredited for destroying single handedly. We cut off the New Republic’s head when we took Coruscant. Having Jacen Solo tell the galaxy that the only way is the True Way will be a strike at the heart and soul of this galaxy."

Tsavong’s face twisted from the snarl into something approaching a smile. "The cancer in the wound which is Coruscant."

"Exactly, Warmaster."

"Good. You will not fail in this Executor."

"If it be in my power to not fail then I-"

The malicious gleam once more appeared in Tsavong’s eyes. "You misunderstand me Executor. I am telling you, that you will not fail. For if you do then you will die a most ignoble death, as well all those associated with this project. Am I clear Executor?"

"Most assuredly Warmaster."

Then the villip inverted, folding in upon itself, and Nom Anor leaned back, a frown on his face. He looked over at his partner in this task. "Well, that went well."

Vergere tilted her head slightly, her feather crest lifting, and shifting into the yellows. "Well begun is half done."

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The Millennium Falcon slipped from hyperspace, and assumed a high orbit around Hapes. The planet below them was a brilliant shining green and blue jewel as it slowly rotated, giving the Falcon the illusionary appearance that she was constantly slipping over the edge of the planet.

Han glanced over at Leia, where she was curled up in the oversized seat. Han’s jaw set itself, as he watched her. As if feeling his scrutiny she lifted her head, and stared at him with red-rimmed eyes. She raised her hands, and wiped away the beginnings of a tear, and Han absently noted that her usual perfect manicure was ragged and chewed on.

"How’re ya holding up Princess?"

Her lips twitched slightly. "I’ll survive."

She then ducked her head back down, turning away from him to stare out the side viewports.

Han stared at her reflection for a moment more and then went about getting permission to land on the surface of Hapes.

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Jaina was curled up in a ball on the bunk of her wardroom. Her chin was tucked tight against her knees, and her arms strapped across her legs, pulling them tight against her chest. Every now and then small shivers of grief shook her body.

At first there were tears. She had cried for days. Now the tears had dried up and she was lying here alone.

Alone.

Just the though of that concept was enough to bring the grief crashing back down upon her. She was alone. Her brother, her twin, her other half was missing. He was no longer in her twin bond. She could no longer feel him there at the back of her mind; she could no longer reach out and feel him, she could no longer touch his warm presence.

She was empty and she was alone.

The door buzzed, and she ignored it as she had been doing for the past week.

After a second buzz was ignored, it slid open anyway. She could hear the soft booted soles of someone walking closer and the air was filled with the distinctive scent of a Bothan.

The bed shifted slightly as her visitor sat down beside her. She could feel the Bothan’s paw gently touch her hair.

Then she heard Traest’s voice. "You have my condolences Jaina. But there is something I think you should hear, a decision you need to make."

Jaina lifted her head slightly, and looked towards the white-furred Bothan. Her voice cracked from disuse. "What is it?"

"We’re meeting up with the Errant Venture later today, and the Rogues we picked up at Coruscant are transferring over. It’s your decision to go with them to join up with the rest of the Rogues or to stay here on the Ralroost as we head to Bothawai to mourn Borsk Fel’ya."

Jaina closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath. "I’ll transfer over. Thank you for this consideration Admiral."

The Bothan gave her an abbreviated grin, and gently squeezes her shoulder. Then he stood up and left.

And Jaina was once more alone.

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Lu’ath Raptoq huddled in the cold cabin of the metallic starship as it slid between the stars. On either side of him the Jeedai Rar sisters, were curled up, their limbs entwined around him even as his own arms were around them. Their prehensile lekku occasionally twitching in time with the various night sounds they occasionally made. The blue of their skin shone slightly in the dim glow which snuck into their cabin from beneath the flimsy door that led to the hallway outside. For a moment, he wondered which texture felt more comfortable to him, the smooth flesh of the two Twi’leks or the suede of their minimal clothing.

At first the Shamed One wondered why the two felt the need to constantly be touching him, and most especially why they would do so at night, as they curled up around his arms, laying their heads upon his chest. His initial thoughts was that they wanted to keep him close by, to make sure that he did not run away or cause some type of mischief. Then he noticed the looks he was receiving from some of the other males traveling on this transport, males who were native to this galaxy, and realized that those males were envious of him, of the touches and caresses the two Jeedai would give him.

And his thoughts turned to wondering if they themselves got some type of pleasure from touching him. He thought about what he knew of Twi’leks, and remembered they came from a sun-scorched world, one much warmer than humans find comfortable. His final thought on the matter was they curled up against him at night for warmth.

Shaking himself from his memory, he looked down at the Twi’lek to his right, a frown flickering on his face. Alem’arar. He gave his head a slight shake, as he considered her. Impetuous, head-strong, yet a daring fighter. Yet something about her rubbed him the wrong way, something which he could not quite define. Then he glanced down to his left, the place of pride, looking at Num’arar. He smiled slightly, a gesture he had picked up over the months of rebelling against his people on behalf of the Jeedai.

He was a Shamed One of the Yuuzhan Vong. Unworthy of ascension and standing in Yuuzhan Vong society. Yet he rejected that, he denied that thought, and fought with the natives of this galaxy to see his people freed from that tyranny. But because of his standing in Yuuzhan Vong society, he had never been given the chance to mate, to take a life-mate. His branch of the family tree was pruned from the collective, and he had accepted that. He had never considered it being any other way.

Yet as he laid here in the arms of the Rar sisters, he had to wonder if Num’arar would be willing. He settled in tighter against the thin cot he shared with the girls, considering the various times he had talked with Num’arar. As he glanced down one last time, he gave a quick, almost imperceptible nod of his head.

She makes me happy in the same way her sister disturbs me.

As he finally accepted that he was growing quite fond of Num’arar, he leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, pressing his lips in the furrow at the base of her lekku. As he did so, she murmured in her sleep and twined herself tighter against him.

And he smiled.

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